


Scent

by DaisyFairy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Grumpy Sherlock, Happy Ending, M/M, Scents & Smells, Valentine's Day, bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-18 17:59:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13686870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaisyFairy/pseuds/DaisyFairy
Summary: It's Valentine's Day and John has changed his aftershave, Sherlock is not happy.





	Scent

**Author's Note:**

> I've just missed posting on Valentine's Day here, but it's still Valentine's somewhere.

Sherlock has been waiting all day for this. Not that he's let it show, busying himself with his microscope, trying to still his hands and feet as they tap out an anxious rhythm, then giving up and occupying his hands by playing his violin, purposing choosing the angriest, most aggressive music in his repertoire, avoiding any hint of romance to hide his preoccupation, and carefully avoiding checking the clock every ten minutes.

John has spent the day as if he hasn't a care in the world. As if the most monumental thing ever weren’t going to happen this evening. Just tapping away at his laptop, that interminable one finger pecking away at the keys, and then reading his book, and then he had a _bath_. How he could bear to just lie around in the water is beyond Sherlock.

At 6pm Sherlock had laid aside his violin and rushed to the bathroom. A quick shower, a few minutes fussing over his hair, and quickly donning his second favourite suit with his aubergine shirt open at the collar, and he was ready.

But John is still upstairs, in the bedroom that is now really only used as storage space for his clothes and other belongings. Sherlock clenches his fist, his jaw, his stomach muscles and buttocks. Holds his body still and slows his breathing. Control, that is the key. 6:45 they are leaving John said, and it is only 6:40. Control. He knows he mustn’t ruin this by shouting, by looking over eager, by provoking John. If he wants this he needs to stay in control of himself.

Footsteps on the stairs, and then John appears. He looks fabulous. Hair styled with much more care than normal, a charcoal grey suit with crisp white shirt and a teal tie. His face lights with a radiant, easy smile. He holds a hand out to Sherlock and asks, “Are you ready love?”

Sherlock’s throat is dry suddenly. He’s been ready all day, but now, he feels unprepared. His first Valentine’s Day date, well, his first real one anyway. A date for a case, or a date with, shudder, Victoria Pemberton at 17 to avoid having to come out to his family, surely don’t count.

“Sherlock.” John sing-songs, dragging him back out of his reverie.

Sherlock looks up again and sees the warmth in John's eyes. He scrabbles to his feet and takes John’s hand, then moves closer to envelope him in a hug. He squeezes him tight and leans down to plant a kiss on the crown of Johns head, which incidentally will allow him to smell John's hair. The scent of John always grounds him. In the last few months since they got together it has become one of his favourite things, simultaneously calming and arousing.

He inhales deeply through his nose, but his breath catches and for a terrifying second he cannot get his lungs to work. This is all wrong. John doesn’t smell like John at all, he smells of bergamot and sandalwood and, urgh, just like Mycroft when he goes to one of his fancy Government parties. It is the scent of being forced to attend a boring function and be polite. It is the scent of a frowning, glaring, disapproving brother angry at being pulled away from his evening to deal with a troublesome sibling. It is the scent of meddling and overbearing and most decidedly not the scent of a lovely dinner and then home to bed.

Sherlock splutters a little and pulls away as if burned.

John frowns up at him, “You ok? Need some water?”

Sherlock shakes his head and John snags his hand and pulls insistently towards the door.

“Come on then. I know you’ve been busy all day, but we really need to get going now or we’ll miss our reservation.”

Sherlock allows himself to be tugged out of the flat and down the stairs. The stench emanating from John is cloying and fills Sherlock’s senses.

Sherlock spends the majority of dinner pouting, he feels on edge, things aren’t right and he can barely bring himself to talk at all. John is trying, talking about their last case, plans for the weekend, gossip from work, but Sherlock mostly just responds with single word answers or grunts, and avoids eye contact as far as possible. 

Eventually John trails off with his attempts at conversation. A few minutes of eating in silence and John asks quietly what is wrong. 

Sherlock can hear the hurt in his voice, and he hates it, but even he knows it is not socially acceptable to tell your partner they smell disgusting, so he is at a loss for what to do. Anyway, John isn’t the only one hurting, Sherlock had been looking forward to this evening and John has gone and ruined it. He settles for mumbling “Nothing.” And then filling his mouth with pasta to avoid having to say anything else.

They arrive home in a sullen silence, John’s face is tight, a mixture of anger and sadness in his eyes. 

“I've obviously upset you somehow. I might as well go and sleep upstairs if you’re going to be like this.” John growls, then stomps off to the bathroom before Sherlock can respond, leaving him in the lounge. He slumps into his chair. 

Sherlock sits in his misery, he doesn’t know how much time passes, but the next thing he knows John comes out of the bathroom, snaps, “Night then.” and turns towards the stairs.

Sherlock takes a deep breath, the smell of sandalwood hits the back of his throat, he needs to fix this, but doesn’t know what to do.

He blurts out, “You smell like Mycroft!” then sits with his eyes wide like a deer in the headlights.

John slowly turns around, his mouth slightly open and his eyes rake up and down Sherlock’s body.

“You don’t smell like my John!” Sherlock’s brain decides to supply loudly without consulting Sherlock for permission first.

“Is that..? That’s what this has all been about?”

Sherlock nods and drops his eyes to the floor. He knows he is being ridiculous, it is a stupid thing to get this worked up over, but John needs to be John. Sherlock has enough trouble letting John in, to show him the softer side of himself as it is. How is he supposed to do it if his hindbrain is constantly tugging for his attention, telling him to put his guard up because Mycroft is sniffing around, poking his nose in.

“I really smell like Mycroft?” John whispers.

“When he is being at his absolutely most boring.” Sherlock mumbles in reply.

John laughs and Sherlock’s eyes snap up to examine him curiously. John takes a step closer, he is smiling, so much happier than a few minutes before.

“You should have said.” He says gently.

“I was trying to be normal. To be polite. Surely it isn’t the done thing to tell your date that the stink emanating from him makes you want to go and hide in the bathroom.”

John replies with amusement, “I think ‘stink’ is a bit strong. I paid a lot of money for this new aftershave, wanted to make an effort for you. And hide in the bathroom? Seriously? Mycroft isn’t that bad.”

Sherlock pouts, “He is when he wears that scent, he is at his mostly bossy and pretentious.”

John shakes his head fondly and rubs Sherlock’s shoulder. “How about I go and shower this off and put on my normal aftershave, then we can go to bed.”

“In our bed? Together? Even after I was so...me?”

“Yeah, luckily I like you, even when you’re being ‘you’.” John leans down and gently kisses Sherlock, pressing their lips together softly.

When John pulls away he breaks into giggles at the furrowed brow and frown on his love's face.

John giggles turn to full blown hysterics when Sherlock whines, “Don’t kiss me when you smell like him.”

Sherlock’s frown deepens and John can’t resist planting a smacking kiss on his forehead then running away to the bathroom before allowing Sherlock anytime to respond.

“Meet me in the bedroom in ten minutes, and bring the handcuffs.” He shouts over his shoulder gleefully.

Sherlock shudders at the lingering scent in the air, but then smiles as he collects the handcuffs from his coat pocket. John is going to pay dearly for tonight, and they are both going to love every second of it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Happy Valentine's Day.


End file.
